


Through All of These Years

by imbellarosa



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU - Modern Setting, Gen, Post Finale Fix - It, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbellarosa/pseuds/imbellarosa
Summary: “Tell me a story."“Once Upon a Time,” the first begins.“Why would you start like that,” the other whines, though they curl in like a comma, relaxing for the journey ahead.“Dunno,” the first shrugs. “It’s how the best ones start, though, isn’t it? And this one is a good one.”The other laughs indulgently and motions for the first to proceed with the story. The first rolls their eyes good-naturedly and starts again.***or in which Merlin and Arthur remember and stories are magical, too.





	Through All of These Years

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched this show in about a month, and then I couldn't get the characters out of my head. This was the result. This has not been edited by a beta yet, and all mistakes are mine. I am the queen of typos, and if you see one, please tell me. More notes at the end. Thanks!

_ “It is important...Someone needs to tell those tales. When battles are fought and won and lost, when the pirates find their treasure and the dragons eat their foes for breakfast with a nice cup of Lapsang souchong, someone needs to tell their bits of overlapping narrative. There’s magic in that. It’s in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways you can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do with it, with your words. This is your role, your gift...Do not forget that….There are many kinds of magic, after all.” _

_ -The Night Circus, _ Erin Morgenstern 

***

It is a calm night, somewhere. The stars are blurred by smog and thin clouds. Once, it would have been quiet, and the moon would have sliced the clouds and fallen gently onto castles and fields and small towns.  But the city has grown into forests of telephone poles and flocks of wires. The only roar left is the cars that fly past office skyscrapers and apartment complexes.

Looking closer, at the center edge of the west side of the city, a building slouches, the brick chipped in corners and the red long faded to gray. Most of the blinds are closed, and the occupants asleep. It is late, after all, and tomorrow is a Thursday. 

But on the third floor, fourth to the right, the light is on. Not the one facing the street, that’s the kitchen. The one in the small room that has buried itself in the farthest corner of the flat. There are still some boxes pushed against the walls in the room, still books that spill onto the floor, looking impossibly old. A bed is in the center of the room, large and imposing in contrast to the water-stained ceilings. 

Don’t worry. This story is not about the ceiling. It is about the figures in the bed, who are somewhere between sleeping and not. One is reading a battered book and whispering something under their breath while the other watches with bleary eyes. The world is louder now, and more crowded. People moved faster. 

The one who’s nose was buried in a book shifts slightly, and the other looks up to take note of the disturbance

“Tell me a story,” they demand, their voice soft and heavy. 

The first looks down briefly, then allows a smirk to flutter across their face. They try to look pensive for a moment, then shut the book harder than is probably advisable for a book of its age. 

“Once Upon a Time,” they begin.

“Why would you start like that,” the other whines, though they curl in like a comma, relaxing for the journey ahead. 

“Dunno,” the first shrugs. “It’s how the best ones start, though, isn’t it? And this one is a good one.”

The other laughs indulgently and motions for the first to proceed with the story. The first rolls their eyes good-naturedly and starts again.

***

“Once Upon a Time, there was a boy. And the boy lived in a small village - a farming village - with his mother. But it was a poor town, and the crops were dying, and the ones that weren’t were being taken by what would now be called a sheriff in exchange for relative safety from...well, they didn’t say what, exactly, but it wouldn’t be pretty if the townsfolk refused.

“D’y’know, they have a character now - Robin Hood, he’s called - and he puts men like that in their place.” - the first’s eyes gleam as they sidetrack onto another story - “Some people think he’s real, actually. Robin Hood, I mean. Because the story takes place around other real people and events, like Prince John and the signing of the Magna Carta, which was one of the first steps toward democracy and -” 

“Is this story about Robin Hood?” the other interrupts, with only a touch of impatience in his voice. It is late, and they are warm, and it is temporarily silent. 

“You know it’s not,” the first returns with a fondly exasperated motion of their head. The other raised their eyebrows pointedly. 

“Yes, alright” - and this again is the first - “I’ll get on with it. So the boy in the village with his mum. One day, when the boy was nineteen years old, his mum told him he must go and find his fortune - his happiness is actually what she said, but all of the best stories say fortune - and so he left. He went to a nearby kingdom, where he hoped to progress his studies, and to find his fortune-”

“You mean his happiness.”

“Yes,” the first says, reaching out and ghosting the other’s temple. “I mean his happiness. But the kingdom was ruled by a sad, bitter man, who tried to make everyone else as sad and angry as he was - especially the young prince, who would one day be king.

“But the prince was kind, and loyal to his people, and their pain pained him. The king, whose eyes had become steely and cruel, and whose lips twisted in a mean way when he laughed, was displeased.” 

“Was he really as bad as that,” the other twists his head to better look at the first. “The king, I mean. The prince sounds charming.”

“The Prince was an ass,” the first retorts prodding the other with their big toe. “But yes. He really was that bad.”

“The boy should have left,” the other murmurs. 

“But then there would be no story.’

“Would that be so bad, really?”

“Yes,” the first said fiercely. “It really would be.”

“Not all stories have happy endings,” the other whispers, as if afraid of sharing this secret which had stopped being a secret so long ago. 

“Prat,” the first smiles fondly. “You haven’t heard this one yet. Besides” - here it was punctuated with a dismissive wave of their hand - “before the end, there is a beginning and a middle, and this story’s got a good one. Promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.” 

“Anyways. The boy found a job at the castle with the court physician, who was an old friend of his family’s -” 

“I think you’ve left something out,” the other intones. There was no heat, no anger or bitterness, just a sort of c’mon, we’ve been over this.

The first sighs, “Yes, alright. The reason - the real reason - the boy had left home is that he had magic, had been born with it, and he needed to learn how to control it. But the king in this new kingdom had outlawed it.”

“Why didn’t y - the boy - go somewhere else? Why did he even go to that kingdom to begin with?”

“Destiny’s a funny thing. And besides, the court physician was waiting for him. It was the only place the boy ever thought to go. And, sometimes, he would wonder the same thing; but even looking back, it was as if his feet had a mind of their own. There truly was nowhere else he could have gone, even if he had wanted to. And he never really did.”

“Did he ever fall in love?” The other wears a small smirk. 

“You’re gettin’ a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? That bit’s not until later. First, he’s got to meet the prince. And the girl. Not necessarily in that order.”

“It was, though, wasn’t it? In that order.” It shouldn’t have mattered. The story was an old one. But some things are over still. 

“Don’t really remember, after all these years,” the first’s head is cocked in what was only a half mocking pose. “But I think so, yeah. So, anyways, the prince was a complete clotpole-”

“Oh really, now,” and the other’s eyes were sparkling, “Do you even know what that word means?”

“- and a bully,” the first steamrolled on as if there had been no interruptions. “And he wasn’t half as funny as he thought. But he, too, was young. And hurt, though the boy didn’t know it yet. The first time they met, they fought. Suppose it couldn’t have gone any other way, really. The boy ended up in the stocks. This, I think, is where he met the girl. She was beautiful. Her palms were calloused, and her eyes were bright and sharp, and her lips were tilted up in a perpetual smile, and the first time he saw her, he thought, I bet you’re really great. 

“She was, too. She laughed loudly and loved her friends and loved love. Not just the idea, but the way the feeling would swallow her whole from the inside, elevating her, exalting her. It’s how she could love so many, so deeply. It’s how- but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

“The boy, soon after meeting the prince, discovered a secret: the king kept a dragon under the city. The dragon was very old” - and here the voice becomes creaky, like the door hinge in one of the old castle doors- “and he would tell the boy many strange things, beginning with his destiny. As it turns out, the boy and the prince were ‘two sides of the same coin’-”

“Must’ve been an attractive coin,” the other interrupts, hooking their hand around the first’s wrist and drawing them closer. 

“Oh, obviously,” the first laughed quietly. “Anyways, the boy couldn’t believe it. How could he be destined to protect the prince - someone he didn’t even like. How could he help anyone build a kingdom?”

“Is that what he was meant to do?” And it was said lightly, but there was an undercurrent of tension, a thrum of a story. 

“It’s what he will spend the rest of his days trying to do,” and this was solemn -  a promise.

“Right. Go on, then; prince, dragon, magic, destiny. What happens next?”

“He saved the prince.”

“Just like that?”

“Well...not exactly. It was like...a tether. It was a choice, but there was never really an option. Like - a moth. It will always go to the flame.”

“Did he get burned?”

“There you go again, getting ahead of yourself! I told you. Before there is an end, there is a beginning and a middle. Right. So the boy saved the prince, and the king gave him a job. The prince’s manservant. What an honor” - and here the tone was slightly sarcastic - “but this was his destiny.

“And, as it turns out, the prince wasn’t as much of a dollophead as he seemed. He had the weight of the king’s world on his shoulder and the good of the people in his heart. He had been taught to despise magic, but he hadn’t ever really met it. Of course, the boy couldn’t tell the prince that he was magic. The penalty for sorcery was death. And the boy had a destiny to fulfill. And he was young; he wasn’t ready to face death. This is what he told himself, at first. Then, as the years went on and he looked at death in the eye and he watched it blink, he told himself that he was doing it for the prince. He wouldn’t make the prince choose between magic and his father. But this wasn’t true, either.”

The other stills. They haven’t heard this part of the story before. Their voice is hoarse as they manage, “Why, then?”

“Because the boy was afraid,” the first says with a shrug. “He had gained the trust and the friendship of the prince, and he did not want to lose it. He would do anything not to lose it- 

“D’y’know” - and the first sat up and fully faced the other, “That the first round table was not made up of knights or royals. It was made up of farmers and paupers from the boy’s village that the prince had come to help. Not because he had to, mind you. They weren’t his people. He did it because they were weak, and starving, and they needed help -”

“No,” the other cut in, and it was the first truly awake thing they had said in hours. “No, that’s not why.”

“Why, then?” the first is soft, curious. This had been the way the story had been told for centuries. It had been passed down and woven in still lake waters and forged in the heat of flames and blown in the tendrils of the north wind. Could some of it have been wrong? 

“Because y - the boy - needed him. That was it, really.”

And something warm bloomed inside the first’s chest, and there was a flicker from the two little lamps in the room. A power surge. Probably nothing. 

“Right, well. That was the beginning. A boy and a prince and a bit of magic and a destiny larger than either of them.” 

“What happened to the girl?”

“She fell in love. Well - maybe it’s not that simple. First, she fell in love - or what she thought was love - with the boy -”

“...what?”

“-Oh, shush, it wasn’t anything, really. Then she fell in love with an ill-made knight. A man who was strong, and brave, and kind, and loved her more deeply than the sea. But circumstances forced him from her side. And, finally, she fell in love with the prince. Who fell in love with her, too.”

“I...don't know if he ever did,” the other pauses. This will only ever be said here, now, in the darkness and the stillness. There are things that they aren’t brave enough to say in the daylight. “I think she was beautiful, and kind, and good, and she was there, and she loved him - or thought that she did. But they never really laughed together. It all sounds very grade school, but. Love...love is deeper, I think.”

“I think the prince would have knocked you on your arse for saying that.” 

“Yeah,” the other nods. “He probably would’ve. But I needed to say it.” 

The first shake his head as if shaking out a dream, or setting down a weight. Atlas would never know this feeling.

“Right, then. But they got engaged. The Prince asked this woman - a servant - to be his queen. There was never any doubt. She was kind, and understanding, and she believed in him, and - d’you want to know what I think?”

“Hmmm?”

“I think…” - carefully, now - “ I think that the prince’s mother had died when he was born. He’d never known what it was like to have a woman in his corner, caring for him, telling him that he could be who he wanted to be. And this girl would have been a phenomenal mother, and the prince had never had one. But that’s later.”

“And the king?”

“The king was a hard man to love.” Some stories are easier to swallow when they are told back to you. “And he had secrets, dark ones, desperate ones, that he never wished to see the light of day. His wife had not been able to have children, so they’d consulted a sorcerer. But to be given a life, one must be taken.  Such is the balance of the world. The prince was born, so the queen died. And the king, who had loved her very much in his own way, blamed the sorceress, and turned his hatred outwards, to magic. He killed those who practised magic in order to cleanse himself of his wife’s death. This was one secret.

“And the other was this: he had a friend who was sent off to battle, and he was charged with looking after the friend’s wife. He was a lonely man, a3nd she was terrified of being alone, of being left behind. And, well, you know what they say about desperate people. Nine months later, she welcomed a little girl. She died soon after that. The soldier died a few years later, and so the girl’s charge fell to the king. But - “

“You promised me a happy middle,” and it could be whining, but the words are like swallowing honey. 

“Oh, alright,” the first sighed. “I suppose I did. Right, well, before everything was shot to hell, they were happy. Or the boy was, at least. He had a family, and a purpose, and someone he believed in. And the craziest thing - just, the really insane thing - was, people believed in him, too, People he had never met would take up his mantle and follow the prince. They believed in the world the boy and the prince could bring together.

“The prince became kinder and stronger. The boy grew into a man. The dragon below the castle - the last of its kind - was freed. The young warlock became the dragon’s friend - a dragonlord, at that - and he found another one; the dragon was no longer alone, though this didn’t end well. The prince was enchanted by a fairy, and the king by a troll, and the court physician by a goblin. Knights proved themselves from all walks of life; They were travelers, and blacksmith’s sons, and a part of the king’s guard. They were loyal, and brave, and honorable. As long as the prince was not king, they could not officially be knights, but they were always friends. 

“And there were tournaments - cursed ones, mind you - and celebrations and laughter. There were guests to the Isle of the Dead and the waters of Avalon. There was a sword forged by the fire of a dragon. And - at the center of it all - were the prince and the warlock. Oh, no one knew - or, very few knew - that he had magic, but that wasn’t important just then. This was: this kingdom, and his friends were his family. He had never been happier. 

“But the sins of the father are so often passed on to the son. The king’s daughter grew restless. An enchantress came to the kingdom one day, and she knew the king’s secrets. And the king’s daughter suffered terrible nightmares - nightmares that came true. She, too, had magic. But, see, the girl didn’t know she was the king’s daughter, and, by the time she found out, she had been so angry, and so alone, for so long, that all she could see was the crown she was due. 

“And the warlock didn’t do much to help her, though she was his friend, I’m afraid. He did at first. He tried to take her to people that could help her. But he didn’t trust her with his secret, and, when he could see no way out, though she was afraid, he tried to poison her. At that point, the prince was dying, too. And there, there was never any choice. The prince could not die. Not just because of his destiny, but because - because he was everything. Like seeing the world for the first time.”

And then a small hitch from both figures on the bed. The first continues, “It didn’t matter, though. The Enchantress - her sister - saved and took her away. By the time she had come back she was - different. Harder. An enchantress in her own right. She organized a military coup - this is how the king and the prince found out about her intentions. 

“Here, again, the ragtag team of Knights came back. It is the second round table, complete with the girl who would be queen, the court physician, and the warlock. It was hope - a flicker in the storm, but it was enough. They took back the kingdom. But the king would never be same. And his daughter would never give up. 

“Here, I think I have to talk about L- the ill-made knight. He was so in love with the girl who loved the prince. He would rather have her happiness than her love. One day, the king’s daughter opened a portal between the living and the dead. To close it required a life. The prince - being the massive self-sacrificing dollophead that he is - took his knights and the warlock, and went to give his own life for the good of his kingdom. 

“But the girl was not ready to lose him. She went to the Knight and asked him to protect the prince with his life. The knight, who was honorable, and kind, and brave, and truly and irrevocably in love, agreed-” 

“What about the b - the warlock?”

“He...was probably more like the knight than the prince. The prince would not die that day if he could help it. But there were many ghosts, and only some of them were metaphorical. The knight, who knew the warlock’s secret, promised to help keep the prince safe because he'd made a vow. It was the closest he would get to a wedding vow.

“You see, before they got to the rift, the warlock became injured, and the prince, who always blamed himself for everything, the idiot, felt guilty, and so he sent the warlock back, and he sent the ill-made knight with him, to keep him alive -”

“That wasn’t why.”

“Why what?”

“That wasn’t why the prince sent the warlock back, you daft idiot.”

“Why, then?”

And the other thought for a moment. Already they had changed the story beyond belief. It is something farther than a fairytale now, and something closer to the truth. 

“Because of what you said. About seeing the world in color. It was like, one day, something just - just fell into place. And he couldn’t lose that.”

“Even then?” The first is quiet, still. They feel old beyond belief. 

“Longer, I think. But you know this story better.”

“Maybe not…” and then they shake themselves as if shaking off raindrops, or memories. “At any rate, the knight and the warlock were on their way back to the kingdom when some water spirits healed the warlock. It sounds ridiculously convenient, I know, but...he had a destiny. That was what everyone would tell - what he would tell himself: he had a destiny, he had no choice. He would say this because it was easier than the truth: there was always a choice. He could have left at any time. His promise was only sacred in the same way this ill-made knight’s vow was sacred. 

“But when he returned, it was nearly too late. The prince was about to give his life. The warlock tried his best to intervene, but it was the knight who saved them. With a single smile, he walked into the portal, and then everything was over, as suddenly as it’d began.’

“But he wasn’t dead, though, was he?”

“He was, yeah.” Some stories never stop being sad. 

“But….he comes back, though, doesn’t he? That’s not… that isn’t how he died.”

“Yeah, I think it was. You’ve got to let me tell the story.”

“Well, hurry up, then.”

“The king died shortly after that. He lived badly, but died well, though the warlock tried to heal him. The prince, who had sought out a sorcerer to save the king, was furious; he blamed both magic and himself, though he, too, had done his best to save the king.

“But sometimes...sometimes people just die. The string is snapped, and there’s nothing left for them here. It was the king’s time.

“And the prince’s coronation - it was like dawn. Like you had woken from a nightmare, and maybe life could be better. The prince - the young king, now - was in pain, but he was not evil and did not rejoice in the suffering of others. Seeing him take the throne was like watching a bird, poised to take flight. It was - it was hope, and….I dunno how to put it into words, just -”

“I understand,” the other says, “It was like something had broken. Or maybe been set back into place.”

“That’s quite arrogant,” the first laughs. “But yeah. Still, the late king’s daughter - the enchantress - was still out there, and the king was young and inexperienced, and a bit scared. He turned to his uncle for council. 

“But the uncle was also angry and bitter over his sister’s death. He’d wanted the king and the kingdom to suffer as his sister had. He’d joined forces with the enchantress. He was clever and...slimy seems like the best word. And, by the time he was caught, most of the damage had been done. 

“And then there was the Druid boy. Back when the warlock had first arrived, this boy and his father were captured and sentenced to death. The king’s daughter became close with the child - she risked her life for him. So, when he grew up, they had a bond. But there was another thing. This boy - he became a knight. The king trusted him. He meant well, at first, but the warlock could not see this. He pushed the boy away. The boy lost someone he loved as a result of their actions.

“It’s a funny thing, kindred spirits. Not all of them are bonded through laughter - some are forged by a hammer and an anvil -”

“Is it time?”

“Not for that, not just yet. Just...once, the boy said to the warlock that ‘the love that binds us is more important than the power we wield’. Remember that, okay? It wasn’t all their fault. But for now, let’s revisit the girl…

“One day, the king decided that he wished to marry her - and, as it happened, he could, if she would have him. He filled her house with candles, lit them himself - well, himself and the warlock, of course. And then he blindfolded her and led her back to her small hovel in the dead of night and presented her with a ring, one made especially for her -”

“How d’you know this? I don’t remember…”

The first continues as if there have been no interruptions. “The king kept a matching ring for himself. The warlock waited outside, watching through a small window that faced a dark alley. This, too, he realized, was another type of magic. To love someone so deeply, to watch another destiny unfold. To be on the outside looking in and seeing...well. The king didn’t know that he was there.

“But he was happy for the girl and the king - truly. But not everyone shared his sentiments. The enchantress found a way to revive the ill-made knight, to steal his soul and place him under her command. She returned him to the girl. 

“And here, the story becomes a bit blurry ‘round the edges. See, the enchantress placed a spell of the girl so she would fall in love with the knight. But, see, most people agree - there is no magic - and no magician - powerful enough to make someone fall in love. Nothing comes from nothing, you know?”

“You believe that she always loved the knight?”

“Well...alright. I believe that all of them - the girl, the king, and the knight - were robbed of their right to love who they wanted, not who they should. There are some versions of the story where the knight and the girl would love each other for the rest of their lives; they would risk everything just to be together. 

“I think that, given the chance, the girl and the knight would have found their way back to each other. The king had so many responsibilities, and he was full of emotions, and thoughts, that he thought no one would understand - which was rubbish, by the way, someone did - and she was a gentle soul, and, in life, the knight was honorable, and brave, and desperately in love with her. And she always saw the best in him. In everyone, really, but she brought it out in him; She could never do that to the king. 

“But none of that matters, because the knight was dead and she was cursed. And when the king found out of their ‘affair’ - well, it was the night before the wedding. And the warlock didn’t know of the curse then, so he could not help her. The king banished her. The warlock was there, the morning she left. It felt like - like a punch to the gut. If the King were to marry - and he would have to, for the kingdom needed a queen - she was the only one the warlock could bear to see at his side. 

“And then there was a bit with a possessed knight and a Druid spirit, which was ...difficult, but not important in the grand scheme of things except, well, it freed the Druid people. See, the king - this king, anyways - wasn’t interested in a witch hunt. He was aggrieved over the death of his father and his sister’s betrayal, and while he did blame magic, hatred wasn’t in his nature. 

“Then came the replacement bride - a beautiful princess from a neighboring kingdom. The warlock hated her, you know.”

“Did he?” the other reaches their hand up and sleepily tangles their fingers with the first’s. “Why?”

“I’ve forgotten, now. I think...well it must’ve been like this: he must’ve thought that the girl - the banished one - was the king’s One True Love. His Soulmate, in the big, grand way...because if not, well, that would mean he chose her- and this princess - “

“Wouldn’t a choice be better than a soulmate?”

“But, see, a soulmate is irrevocable. It is the half which makes you whole and all that. A choice means a preference. It is a promise given without obligation.”

“Sorry, but that’s ridiculous.” The other sounds more awake. “I’ve had quite a bit of time to think about this when - well. A soulmate might be a part of you, but so is a parent, or a friend. Everything is a choice. You’d be free to walk out of here right now. I couldn’t stop you if -”

“If you think I’d do that, you’re thicker than I thought, or you haven’t been paying attention-”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Just. When you choose a soulmate, or when you choose to love them, it’s like choosing a part of yourself that you didn’t know existed. And all love is given without obligation, idiot.”

“Right,” the first swallows slowly, stunned. “Well, it didn’t much matter because the king chose to wait for the girl, to find her - “

“If she hadn’t run into them, he would never have seen her again.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that…”

“I am.”

“Right. Well, there was a siege upon the Citadel, led by the enchantress and aided by the king’s uncle. The king managed to get away, but only just, and only with the help of his knights and a little - the tiniest bit- of magic.”

“So that’s how it happened.”

“Well, y - he - wouldn’t have left any other way. On their way out of the kingdom, the enchantress’ troops caught up with them, and the one knight that was left at their side was forced to stay behind and fight. ‘And where were the rest?’ you might ask. Well. Some had stayed behind to buy the king some time to get out. Some had led the villagers into the woods and ensured their safety. This one was caught in the forest.

“The warlock decided to take the king back to his village, to the beginning, believing it would be safer there. Along the way, they met a pair of smugglers who agreed to help them cross the border - but only because they didn’t recognize the king. They weren’t too terribly fond of royalty, actually, come to think of it.

“But the enchantress’ troops, led by the king’s uncle, caught up with them, nearly killing one of the smugglers. The king saved her, but her husband blamed the king for their newfound problems. 

“She was wounded, though, and needed care, and the village was the safest place nearby. Once there, they were able to to mend her wounds and allow her to rest.”

“How was his mum?”

“The smugglers’?”

“Oh, clever. Did you come up with that yourself? The warlock’s, you completely useless thing.”

“Oh, well. She was happy, I think. The warlock had sent the girl her way after the exile, and she was happy for the help. You know, before they - before they had to leave, she pulled him aside and said - ‘did you find it?’. And he looked her like she was mad, because he’d forgotten - in the madness, he’d forgotten the promise he’d made her as a boy. ‘Happiness, love,’ she smiled at him sadly. ‘You looked like you had, last I saw you.’

“And - d’you know, he knew what it was to be happy. It was - like magic. Like something from a fairytale. But. I dunno. I don’t think he knew, either. It was like - like something missing. And there was - there were so many secrets, so many shadows. She’d looked at him, and she held him tight. And when she pulled away, she said, ‘you’ll find it’.”

“Was she right?” And they are facing each other now, but it is in the calm, serene manner of those waiting for sleep to take them. There are no wars left to fight. 

“Hmmm...I dunno.” The first smiles, and it’s a Cheshire cat smile. “The story’s not over yet. Guess you’ll have to wait  to the end to find out.”

“You’re such a drama queen.” the other snaps, but there is no real heat behind the words. 

“And you’re  a dollophead, so I think we’re even. But if you keep interrupting, I’ll lose the story - “

“ - I think you’ve already lost it -”

“ - do me a favor?”

“Hmmm?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh. Getting brave, aren’t we?”

“I’m ignoring you now. Anyways, the enchantress’ troops found them. The girl had been tending to the king’s wounds. The smugglers had been speaking in whispers of where they would go next. But when the torches were lit, it was like a ring of fire around the village. They ran. All of them. It was the last time the warlock would see his mother. She was standing at the edge of the village, as she had been all those years ago, watching them leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” And they make a throaty noise that resembles a small laugh. “Well, after a brief encounter with the troops in some caves near the village, the uncle died. I mean, the warlock killed the uncle. That’s...that’s how it happened. And then they were off to the forest surrounding the kingdom. It was there that the people were hidden. Not that - well, it wasn’t a sure thing, was it? And the king was losing faith in himself. Everyone had betrayed him. He was destined to be the greatest king there was, and he couldn’t see it. The warlock didn’t know how to make him.

“The dragon - he said that the warlock was the only one that could. So he did one thing that he could do well: he told a story, much like I’m doing now. He told the king of a legend involving a sword locked in solid stone. He told of a great king who had put it there, and of how only a great king could get it out….it wasn’t true, but it was good.”

“I’ve figured that out myself, thanks.”

“Thought you might’ve. The truth is that the Great Dragon had forged the sword for the king - who had then been a prince - back when he had been trapped beneath the castle. The king was the only one who was meant to wield it, but there had been some...complications, and the warlock had been forced to hide it - twice, actually - and he’d magicked it into a stone. And then he helped the king pull it out. All the people of the kingdom were there, along with the knights who had made it into the woods. 

“The story of a great king pulling a great sword had spread across the campsite like a wildfire in the night, and, in the morning, they witnessed their king doing just that. It seemed like fate.”

“It was a meddling warlock.” The other is smiling fondly, their eyes dancing in the dim lights.

“They took the kingdom back, as they always did, but at a price. The woman - the smuggler’s wife - was pierced in the side by a sword. There was nothing anybody could have done, but she’d promised the smuggler forever, and the smuggler thought that their forever would be longer. But she just looked at him with tired eyes and said, ‘just - hold me’. And so he did. She was dead, and he couldn’t stop holding her. 

“The king married the girl after this, because forever isn’t as long as one might think it is. So. For better or for worse, ‘til death do us part, long live the queen. And the king was happy - or meant to be - so the warlock was happy.

“And a few years passed in that fashion, and the kingdom was one of peace and prosperity. It was good. Not that - I mean, there were always threats - like...oh! Once, a rogue druid threatened to unleash a love potion on the water supply, because...well, they thought they were cupid of some sort. The court physician had a field day with that one - you should have seen some of the knights. I mean, they weren’t the desired target, of course.”

“Yeah? Who was?”

The first’s eyes twinkle. “The king, of course.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The other wonders if that is the standard answer to these questions. “Wasn’t the king….hmmm, let me see….married? Isn’t that what you just finished telling me?”

“So you were paying attention?” And then they deflate. “It wasn’t...It was good, at first, in the same way the first glass of wine is good. And then...it was more bitter than sweet, I think. The king’s attentions turned to other matters, and the queen while always good and kind, became cold. They were a bright fire, and, suddenly, they dimmed and burned out. I think that this druid thought they were being kind. 

“But time passed quickly, and then a shadow descended once more. The enchantress was back, as was the druid boy destined to kill the king. The boy first saved the king’s life, though, and became a knight. And the warlock, well - it’s like he couldn’t breathe. He was terrified of not being able to save the king. He sacrificed everything to do so, and then, when the time came, he just couldn’t. 

“The boy - this druid boy, that is - ran him through, just as he was meant to, and the king killed him, and the warlock killed the enchantress, and he tried to take the king to the waters of Avalon, which was meant to have healing waters that could save him, but they were too late. There was nothing they could do. And the warlock, who had finally told the king about his magic, had all of this power inside of him and was still unable to do anything for the dying man. And the king’s last request was to just be held” - here the first’s voice sounds like fine crystal hitting cold stone - “And so the warlock did. And the king was dead and he couldn’t let go, and he actually summoned a dragon to see if the dragon could save him, but no. That couldn’t happen, either.

“The only comfort the warlock had was this: The king was - is - the once and future king. When the world needed him, he would return. Until then, the warlock would have to wait.”

***

“That’s an awful story,” the other says, squeezing the first’s hand. 

“Not totally - The warlock never returned to the kingdom, not really. He would exchange messages with a few old friends, sometimes, and he watched from the outskirts of the lower town when the court physician’s funeral procession passed through. 

“But, overall, peace had returned to the kingdom. The queen lifted the ban on magic and acquired a court sorcerer. She had, of course, first asked the warlock, but … it was his destiny to watch over his king. He couldn’t -”

The lights flicker again, and the other clears their throat lightly and pulls the first closer. The lights steady once more. 

“Anyways,” the first gives a watery chuckle, “The Queen remarried - she married the head knight, actually. He was calm, and funny, and sweet, and handsome, and they loved each other. Perhaps not with the fervor of destiny and youth that she had loved the ill - made knight, nor with the passion and duty she had loved the king, but with the ties of loss, of growth, and of friendship. They grieved the lost - all of the friends that were dead and gone - more than they could say. 

“It wasn’t an easy love story, not when there were so many empty chairs around a round table, but, slowly, the kingdom - and the people - flourished once more; They learned to laugh again. They trusted each other with what was left of their hearts, and they were never once sorry for it. The queen was happy once more.

“The kingdom stood under the laws of the king - and later the queen - for nearly a hundred years. But the Saxons came. And the Normans. And the Danish. In the end, there were armies more powerful than the kingdom could stand. And so it fell, and another rose in its place. And then that one would fall, and so on down the lines of tyrants and rulers and never once did the king return to save his people.”

“And the warlock?”

“There are some legends in which he is captured by a powerful sorceress that wouldn’t let him out until the king returned. She trapped him, they say, because she was clever and beautiful and he became enchanted by her. There are some stories that call him a demon, immortal and terrible and awe-inspiring. In some, he ages backwards, so that he has already lived through the best and worst bits of the tale, but has yet to meet the boy who would be king. There’s one - my favorite one - that says he turned into a tree, waiting by the lake for the king to walk out of the water.”

“So what’s the truth, then?”

“Truth is, he wandered. He saw all of the rises and falls, and he learned of far off lands only heard of in fairytales. He saw - and fought - in wars with unspeakable horrors, and just when the entire world would seem to be on fire, and he would think that the king would surely return, it would stop. And he would still be waiting. 

“He watched the Great Dragon fade to legend, and then they all faded into legends: the king, the queen, the ill-made knight, the warlock himself. He saw humans cross oceans and take to the skies and then to the stars. And he would still be waiting. 

“Some think he’s immortal, but he’s not, not really. Just stubborn. And, well...it’s like he was in stasis. Nothing can die while half of itself is still alive. Time, for him,  like for the king, had stopped. He was in the middle of history, of an extended intermission. And then, when the king comes back, it will start again.”

“Has the king come back?” The other sounds both teasing and uncertain, if such a thing is even possible.

“There were years when he thought there was no way he would ever return. Not if he had slept through the fall of his kingdom. Not if he slept through genocides and world wars and so much hate. There were a few times when the warlock almost tried to speak to the dead, just to see him again. He didn’t - he never - well. He was afraid that if he did, it would mess with destiny, that the king would never return. And that - that wasn’t an option. So he just…waited. 

“He had sent the king into the care of a woman he knew would keep the king safe. She had promised him.”

“Why? Why would she do this? Care for a king that might not have cared for her - and for so many years?”

“Because, once, she had loved the warlock - or she thought she did. And he had loved her - or so it seemed to him at the time. She’d had magic, as well, and when he met her, it was like … like she could know him. She could understand. He didn’t understand then that you could know someone without knowing all of their secrets. She had been cursed, and the knights had fatally wounded her in a battle. She’d died by the same lake the king had. Beside the magic waters. It must’ve - it must’ve saved her. She became its guardian. The warlock had been with her when she died, and she’d promised to repay his kindness. And she did, a thousandfold.”

A pause. Then: “Well, that’s a rubbish story, that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It has no ending. It just - stops.”

“It did just stop.”

“It’s still rubbish.”

“Fine.” The first sounds more exasperatedly fond than actually angry. “You tell it, then.”

“Fine.” It’s more uncertain than teasing or smug now. “Right. The king died, yeah? And it’s like you said: it...stopped. He knew who he was - who he loved and what he wanted and then….it’s not like anything was clear in death. Death, actually, he won’t remember very well. It’ll be… like sleep. Like how you think you’ve just closed your eyes, except there’s sunlight streaming through.

“But - just before that - there was...so much pain. It felt like breathing underwater, and then y - the warlock - was there, and he wasn’t alone. Except, he had never been alone, because someone had always been looking out for him. And it was like - like the dam burst, and everything made sense, and he wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but he couldn’t hold on any longer, and he thought, ‘I’ll just close my eyes for a little bit’. Just. Well. Then nothing, or nothing he would be able to remember. 

“And then, one day, he just...woke up. Washed up right on the shores of the lake. And this man - he would’ve made a great knight - comes up to him and start’s shaking him. Says to him, ‘mate, are you alright’, and the king looked up at him, and his tongue was heavy, and the language the man was speaking should have been foreign, but it wasn’t. He was in torn clothes filled with sand, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. They called an ambulance Then, when he woke up, he was in a hospital, and a woman was poking and prodding him and checking instruments they said told them if he was better. 

“It was all so far from the kingdom he had known and the kindly court physician who would give herbal potions in exuberant quantities, and always had a story to go with them.”

“It was a cold morning, wasn’t it? When the king woke up?”

The other gave a faint smile, “It was cold. How did you know?”

“It’s hard to say, exactly. The warlock had lived by that lake for centuries. I mean, he’d seen the world, but he would always return there. He thought that when the king returned, he would be the first to know.”

“It didn’t work like that, though.” The other shrugs ruefully. “The king spent weeks in the hospital, mostly passed out, and when he woke, he would speak of knights and dragons and queens and enchantresses and, always, he would ask for the...warlock. The doctors - they thought he was some sort of actor or...entertainer. 

“But the truth was so much worse. It was like...everything was gone. All of his friends, everyone that he loved; His kingdom, his knights, his Queen. He had no way of knowing that the warlock was alive, let alone waiting for him. All that was left were memories that felt like they were made just a fortnight past.”

“That first morning, though,” their partner muses, “The Warlock felt young again. He had enchanted himself as an old man for centuries, but that morning… I dunno. It was like his heart had started beating again. By that very afternoon, he had removed his enchantment and took to camping by the lake. It - he hadn’t done that in centuries.”

“But” - here the other’s breath catches - “the king was gone by then. It wasn’t for another month that the doctors would release the king, and, once they did, they realized that he had nowhere to go. After all, ghosts have no place among the living -” 

The first opens their mouth to protest and the other gives them a melancholy smile and holds a hand to silence them before continuing, “And anyways, he was still speaking of magic - though, considerably less. He’d quickly figured out that magic wasn’t outlawed here as it had been in his kingdom; people just don’t believe in it. 

“Anyways, a nurse - a kind woman with dark eyes who carried herself like the queen had - phoned police stations looking for missing persons and placed ads in local papers. She went and placed flyers at post offices and community centers and -”

“This is how the warlock found out,” the first takes over again, “He was working at the post, had been for a few decades, spending as much time walking around the lake as possible. So he walked to work one day, and there’s this - this flyer, with his king’s face on it, and a hospital’s address and telephone number. He walked out of the post and never went back to work.”

“You know, when the king first saw the warlock, he laughed. It was the first time he had laughed since being found on the beach. He felt as if he should have known. Of course it would be this man who would have been pigheaded enough to wait.”

“When the warlock first saw the king, he’d cried. And he hadn’t done so in years - centuries, really. But it was - it was like finally going home.”

“Thing is,” the other sounds pensive, “The world doesn’t really need a king right now. No more than they did tomorrow or yesterday, and I doubt they’d accept one.”

“The world’s a big place, but it’s gotten smaller with age. The magic is fading; so while the world may not need a king - and it may not want a king - it needs hope. This is always what the round table meant: hope. Hope that all men could live freely and fairly; that kindness and friendship and love are the greatest bonds of all. And - the world’s forgotten that right now. 

“Maybe you’re right: maybe the world doesn’t need a king, but it does need help. It needs a leader, someone who will fight for what they believe in. It’s what we’ve come here for, isn’t it? To tell stories everyone’s forgotten about and all that. It’s why we’re here and not back at the lake, right?”

“I...it’s not often that you’re right, you know?” The other’s sigh dissolves into a breathy chuckle. “It’s just. They - we - got so much wrong. Even - even this” - and he gestures vaguely between them - “there was so little that they - the king, at least - saw. There was so much that they king never understood until it was too late. And now…the world is so different now. How can they - we - I hope to be better.” 

“Christ, you’re maudlin when you’re tired. I told you once that it was your destiny to be the greatest king that the world would ever know. And you were. You’re a legend, a beacon of hope, to so many people. 

“And now? Well, maybe it’s just time for you to be a good man. It’s our responsibility to keep the kingdom - to keep magic - alive. Tell people what you know. Help people who need it, be a friend to those who want it. You’ve always done that well, even when it was a stupid show of heroics.”

“I will have you know that I’ve never made a show of heroics.” The king says haughtily. 

“Hmmm. If you say so.”  The warlock smiles one of those smiles that fills his face and flashes in his eyes. 

The king smirks in return, then shifts to look out the small window in the room. “Sometimes, I forget that everything’s changed. I wake, and I expect to see my knights giving me crop reports or telling me of dangers across in Odin’s kingdom. I turn, and I think I hear Guinevere’s footsteps in the hallway. When I become confused, there will be a split second when I think that I can seek Gaius and ask for his counsel. And then...I remember. Sometimes” - he hesitates - “Sometimes, I think that this phantom pain is worse than the pain of death.”

“It is,” the warlock agrees easily. “It is worse than the pain of a thousand deaths and a million lifetimes. And you see their ghost’s everywhere. The nurse that had the queen’s kindness. The man who showed a knight’s chivalry and honor. I saw you everywhere: in the bravery of revolutions, in the loneliness of children, in the determination of the weary and the kindness of the lost.”

“I would have gone mad.”

“I did. And I didn’t. It’s odd: I could almost forget, sometimes. I could almost believe that I was an old man, near the end of his life. I could almost be the soldier in the trenches or the doctor in a university. And then there would be someone who had your smile. Or there would be someone with Gwaine’s sense of humor or Leon’s loyalty or Gwen’s kindness, and everything would come flooding back to me. 

“Eventually, I discovered a secret: We honor those we’ve left behind, and find those who have yet to be found.”

“You believe there are more people of Camelot?”

“I believe we are entering a new age of Albion, a few years later than planned. I don’t know what it means, or if anyone else is coming back. But there will always be knights of the round table. We’ve just got to seek them out.

“We built a kingdom, once,” the warlock’s eyes seem to burn gold for a fraction of a second. Then the king shifts and they are blue once more. 

“Perhaps it is time for us to build a life,” the king murmurs almost petulantly. 

“Perhaps it is. But the prophecy says that the king will return in the time of greatest need. And here you are.”

“It doesn’t seem to me that this world needs another battle.”

“Who said anything about a battle?” The warlock smiles superiorly, “Besides, it’s destiny. We’ve never had to go looking for it before.”

For some reason, these words seem put the king at ease. He adjusts his weight once and smiles gently, “Do you think we’ll have longer, this time?”

“I won’t wait this time,” the warlock jokes, but there is a fear behind his eyes. 

“I’ll just have to stick around, then.” This is a promise. 

“You’d better. Clotpole.”

“Idiot.”

The lights flicker and dim before turning themselves off. The figures on the bed shift and turn once, twice, and then are still. It is late, and it doesn’t take long for the king’s breathing to even out. The warlock keeps his eyes open longer, watching, his breath catching. He remembers the old man who had taken in a young boy so many years ago. He watches the king’s chest rise and fall as it had not for so many years. Eventually, the hour and the weight of his years win out, and he slips into sleep.

***

Outside, a streetlight sparks. A woman under a lake smiles as the waters ripple around her. A man opens his eyes for another night shift; His name tag reads ‘Lance’. Someone stumbles out of a bar clinging to a new friend. The men glance at each other and smile conspiratorially, as if they have known each other forever, even though they have just met. The one with bulging arms holds his inebriated companion up as he hails a taxi.

A queen wakes up in the middle of the night thinking that she’s forgotten to do something, but it stays in the foggy recesses of the dream she has just lost, so she stretches and pads to her kitchen for a glass of water before returning to bed. A sorceress cannot remember her sins as she sketches madly over another piece, reaching for ink brushes and staining her face with paint. It is so much better than the blood that once decorated it. Across the city, a boy finishes a paper for his political theory class. His father is sleeping in the next room. 

The night air is buzzing with something that the world has not felt in centuries; somewhere, the wind roars with pleasure, and a breeze spreads as if something had flapped its wings. The world seems to sigh. Long live the king. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this.If you liked it, please comment. I will literally read every single one. :) Find me on tumblr at imbellarosa.tumblr.com


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